


Buried

by iantosgal



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Buried Alive, Clint and Tony are Bros, Hurt Clint, M/M, Tony is a bamf when you hurt his friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iantosgal/pseuds/iantosgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt over at Avengerskink on LJ: <em>I've got this horrible fear of being buried alive (I know the chances of that ever happening are slim, but yeah).</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>I'd like to see something where Clint gets captured somehow and for whatever reason they end up burying him alive inside a coffin-like box. He is slowly running our of air and pretty much thinks he's gonna die in that tiny box.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>Queue Coulson or Tony (and the other Avenger's too if you want) finding him. Then some hurt/comfort! ;D</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Buried

**Author's Note:**

> This plot bunny stole my brain and ran away! I think I mostly answered the prompt :P

It’s dark. 

That’s the first thought that crosses his groggy mind as he blinks himself back to consciousness. It’s so dark he can’t see his nose in front of his face. And it’s hot too; he can feel the slick of sweat on his face, his arms, and his back, making his t-shirt cling to him uncomfortably. The buckles of his vest dig into his back, adding to his discomfort. He reaches up to swipe away the growing pool on his upper lip and his hand hits something hard. He pauses for a second and then slowly he reaches out in front of himself. 

He presses his palm against the solid surface not two inches above his face. It’s slightly cooler than his skin but warms under his touch. It feels like plastic, thick, strong and very solid plastic, and instantly his heart began to thrash in his chest. He runs his hand along the smooth ceiling until he reaches a corner. He swallows past the lump in his throat and lets his hand run down the wall of his prison. 

He’s in a coffin. 

The thought thunders through his head and for a moment he very quietly freaks the fuck out.

Clint Barton has been buried alive. 

He lets out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh at the thought. He’s not exactly claustrophobic but nor does he like the feeling of being trapped, and the darkness itself, all-consuming as it is, is enough to make his heart race. He wonders if he’s truly buried, wonders if his coffin is submerged six feet underground, hemmed in on all sides by dirt and bugs or if he’s been sealed in this coffin and left in a warehouse somewhere. It doesn’t really matter he supposes. He has no idea how long he’s been in here but he can tell that soon, lack of oxygen is going to become high on his lists of problems, right up there with ‘sealed in a box’ and ‘having little to no chance of rescue’. 

He can’t even remember how he got here. He remembers fighting someone, not tucked away on his perch somewhere, but full on hand to hand combat with a guy twice his size. He remembers gigantor hitting the floor, Clint’s knife still lodged his throat and he remembers reaching to retrieve his weapon and then…nothing. 

But he knows he wasn’t fighting alone so he knows the others are at least looking for him. But whoever took him obviously had enough time to bury him the fuck alive so they must have got him away and lost the rest of the team. 

Why him though? Why did it always have to be him?

Yes, he was one of only two ‘normal’ humans on the team, although he always thought that was a ridiculous way to refer to him and Tash because, let’s face it, they may not be Gods or Supersoldiers or any of that shit, but they were pretty far away from normal. But the fact remained, it was always him. He just wished that for once, just once, he wasn’t the damn damsel in distress. Not that he wanted Tasha to get kidnapped or anything but seriously, he was starting to look bad. 

Dimly, through the jumbled and frantic thoughts that were trying to distract him from the situation, he could hear a drumming noise. He held his breath for a moment, ears straining to locate the sound. A twitching by his side brought his attention to his own hand and he realised the drumming noise was his own fingers, beating out a restless tattoo on the floor of his Perspex prison. He stilled his hand immediately, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrated on taking deep even breathes, his heart stuttering as he remembered the lack of oxygen, pushing his panic down. It wouldn’t help matters now and he needed a clear head so he could figure out a way to get the fuck out of here. 

A hiss of static made his eyes fly open. He turned his head to the side the noise had come from but it was a pointless endeavour as the room remained as pitch black as it had been when he first opened his eyes. He strained his eyes in the dark but the most he could make out was a fuzzy grey outline of his shoulder and arm. Another, much louder burst of static made him flinch. 

“Hello Agent Barton,” said a voice. 

It was a nice voice. A warm voice filled with kindness. The way the man spoke was the way Clint imagined a father spoke to his child, a father that was a better father than Clint had ever had, sure, but it’s what he’d imagined on lonely nights in the home and on cold nights in the circus, when he was feeling at his lowest and just wanting someone to pull him into their arms, hold him close and tell him everything was going to be alright and that they loved him. It wasn’t a deep voice, soft and musical, adding to the overall gentle aura and it had a slight accent that Clint couldn’t quite place. 

Clint was on guard instantly.  
The only people that kidnapped people and buried them alive while talking with a voice like that, were crazy people and Clint had met enough crazy people in his life to recognise the signs. 

The man sighed and the quiet breath seemed to echo around the confines of Clint’s prison.

“I must admit, Agent Barton, I was disappointed when my associates brought you in. I asked them to bring me an Avenger but perhaps I should have been more specific.”

Clint said nothing and carefully did not allow himself to tense up at the accusations of weakness and worthlessness that were sure to follow. 

“You see, you are possibly my favourite of the Avengers.” Clint felt a flutter of surprise at the man’s words. “You have never pretended to be something you’re not, never shied away from your past and the things you have done. We look at you and we know what we see is what we get. You are a man who is willing to fight for what’s right but you are not a hero. Not really. You are just a man who does what is right. And I respect that Agent, I really do.”

The man paused and the silence seemed the thud through Clint as he tried to figure out what his captor was talking about. 

“But you’re friends,” he continued after a while. “You’re friends I do not respect. They claim to be heroes, they claim to be Earth’s _mightiest_ heroes but that’s a lie. They all have their reasons for doing what they do and I don’t think any of their reasoning is pure.”

Clint scoffed. 

“And yet you think mine is?” he muttered. 

“You think too little of yourself, Agent,” the man replied, making Clint jump. He hadn’t been aware that he could be heard. “You had a skill and you used it for the good of mankind for years before the Avengers were a glimmer in your leader’s one good eye.”

Clint bit his lip and said nothing. He wasn’t going to be dragged into this man’s deluded notion that he was the purest Avenger when Clint knew that role would always belong to Steve. Clint wasn’t pure. He hadn’t been pure since he was five years old and he didn’t want to be. Clint knew he had a shady sense of morality but he also knew it was why he was damn good at what he did. He never hesitated to take out a target because it was for the greater good and he would gladly pay the price of eternal damnation of his soul if it meant that the world kept turning for another day. The only time he had hesitated it was because his gut told him what he was about to do was wrong and as that didn’t happen often, he had listened and Tasha had fallen into his life. 

“I can hear your cogs turning from here, Agent,” the man said, softly. “I asked my men to bring me an Avenger and I can only apologise that they brought you to me. I understand you probably have a lot of questions so let me see if I can answer them for you. You are buried in the underground parking lot of a large office building in an area that’s closed off for maintenance after someone crashed into a post last week. The maintenance is scheduled to last for two days and all the workers are associates of mine so they can’t help you. I have left the Avenger’s clues as to your location that will take them all over the city and by the time they’ve solved all the clues and realise you are only three blocks away from where we took you, it will be too late. You’ll already be dead. How much oxygen do you think you have left, Agent Barton?”

“Why?” Clint gasped. “Why are you doing this?”

“If you’re still alive in an hour,” the man said, after a long pause. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“Wait, please,” Clint said, but the man was gone. “No! No, you fuck!” Clint shouted and began to thrash in his cramped quarters, hands and legs slamming into the Perspex ceiling, trying to both force his way free and express his anger at the same time. He swore and screamed as his fists crashed again and again into the plastic until, with an almighty crack, his hand broke. He let out a sound like a wounded animal and flopped back, cradling his hand against his chest. 

A light clicked on and it was so bright the he had to squeeze his eyes shut and throw his uninjured hand over his face. Slowly, his eyes adjusted and he let his hand fall away from his face. 

He regretted hating the darkness. It was so much worse in the light. 

He could see exactly how small the coffin was and he could see the dirt pressing in on him from all sides. He felt bile rising up his throat and resolutely forced it down. Being sick would only make his environment worse and he didn’t need things to get worse. 

The next hour seemed to drag on forever. He had no way to measure the time so for all he knew, his captor had left him for far longer than he said he would. It could have been less time but Clint just had no way of telling and he was pretty sure he was on the verge of a panic attack. Another hiss of static announced the return of his jailer and Clint ignored the wave of relief that passed over him.

“How’s the hand?” the man asked, voice full of concern. 

“You can see me?” Clint said instead of answering the question. 

“I have cameras in every corner of your cell,” the man replied. “I understand you want to escape, I would be disappointed if you didn’t try. To be honest, part of me wants you to succeed.”

“Then stop this,” Clint pleaded. “Let me go.”

“I can’t. I owe this to her. I won’t let her down again.”

“Who? You said you would explain everything.”

“And I am true to my word. You won’t remember me, Agent Barton. You won’t remember my wife, Sandra. But we were there at the Battle for New York, when alien whales came through a hole in the sky and ripped our city apart. I was supposed to be meeting Sandra at our favourite diner but I was running late. When it all started, I was still ten blocks away from her. I tried to get to her but there were crowds of people fleeing and cordons and falling debris and it was only after it was all over and the clean-up was beginning that I managed reach her. The diner was destroyed and she was trapped, everyone was trapped. I tried to get her out but it was all too heavy for me to move, so I… I pressed a kiss to her forehead and I promised would bring help. The Avengers were dotted around the area, pulling people from wreckages and ordering people about and I screamed for help, I pleaded and I begged. But no one came. I finally got a group of fire-fighters to help but by the time we got back to her, my Sandra, my beautiful Sandra, was already dead. And now, the Avengers will know what it feels like to be too late.”

Clint listened to the man’s speech and it all became clear. He’d lost the love of his life and that tended to do crazy things to people. He was looking for a scapegoat and he’d chosen the heroes who hadn’t been able to save her. It wasn’t right and Clint had to make him see that, had to convince him to let Clint go. 

“So I have to die because we couldn’t save your wife?”

“You could have saved her.”

“We just fought off an alien army to save everyone in the city and we were working alongside the emergency services to save as many trapped people as we could and I’m sorry Sandra wasn’t one of them, but seriously, man…do you know how many people died that day? Eight-four. That’s a lot of people we couldn’t save. But think of all the people we _did_ save.”

“I have to do this for her. Someone has to pay.”

“Man, if Sandra could see you now, I don’t think she’d be impressed.”

“You didn’t know her. She would have understood revenge.”

“This isn’t revenge. This is murder.”

The lights went out and the man was gone. 

Left in the darkness with nothing but the throbbing of his hand for company, it seemed like both no time at all and forever before the hiss of static confirmed the man’s return. 

“My name is Robert.” 

“Hi Robert, I’m Clint,” Clint replied softly. “I know you’re hurting, man, but this isn’t right. Please, Robert, let me go.”

“Your friends solved the clues quicker than I thought,” Robert replied, his voice still soft and gentle, not giving any indication he had heard a word Clint has said. “They’re too close. I have to go to plan B, Clint. I’m sorry.”

“What’s plan B?” Clint asked with a growing sense of dread. 

“There’s a poisonous gas being pumped into your cell as we speak.”

Clint felt his heart stop in his chest. 

“It’s not fast acting. It might take an hour to kill you. I don’t know, I haven’t done this before. They might get here before it’s over and if they do, Clint, if they get here while you’re still alive and they open your cell, then the offices above you will explode and all those innocent people will die.”

“Robert, no, please,” Clint pleaded, past caring that he sounded as desperate as he was.

“You get to show what heroes you all are and they get to watch you die and know they were still too late to save you.”

Clint swallowed and let his head thump against the plastic floor, a single tear trickling form his eye. This wasn’t how he was supposed to die. He’d done a lot of bad things in his life and he’d gotten away with them. But now that he was actually doing some good, now he was a hero, he was going to die because he hadn’t been able to save enough people. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

“Are you fucking kidding me? He’s three blocks away from where we started from,” Tony ranted

“We have to get him back,” Phil said, quietly, stood with his back to them all so he could try and hide the emotions that flittered unhindered across his face. 

“And we will,” Steve promised. 

“We need to hurry,” Bruce interjected. “All the clues indicate that Clint is buried and running out of time.”

“Well standing here won’t get him home any quicker,” Natasha barked. “So get on the dame jet and let’s go get him.”

“I’m going ahead,” Tony said, getting to his feet with a heavy clunk of metal. 

“Tony,” Steve began but Thor cut him off with a booming voice. 

“Friend Tony is right. He will get there faster than we can and start to release Clint from his confines.”

“For once, I actually agree with you, Stark,” Phil said, turning to face them all and not even bothering to hide his emotions any more. They all knew he and Clint were together and it was only some stupid lingering feeling of professional propriety that had kept Phil from announcing it from the nearest rooftop. He thought if that if they kept it quiet there was less chance of it impacting their working lives. And yet, here they were, Clint had been taken by a madman and buried alive and Phil was falling apart spectacularly, his mask cracking and his professionalism all but gone. All the mattered was getting Clint home safe and sound. “Go bring my boy home.”

Stark nodded once and then his face plate closed and with a roar of his hand repulsors he was gone. 

Phil watched Tony’s disappearing figure and tried to remember to breath. Clint had to be ok, he had to be, because Phil couldn’t lose him. A gentle hand placed on his arm made him look back at Natasha. She didn’t smile at him or offer any words of reassurance; she just pulled gently on his arm, tugging him to the jet. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Tony landed outside the office building. 

“J, talk to me.”

“I sense a signal coming from the lower level of the underground car park, sir.”

“You think Clint’s down there?”

“I can see no reason for the signal, sir, unless the man holding Agent Barton is using a live video feed to monitor him.”

“Good call, J,” Tony replied, taking off in the direction of the signal at a run. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Clint sat in the darkness, his eyes closed, listening to his own heartbeat and wondering how many of them he had left. Tears streamed down his face but he ignored them. 

He was going to die and it was going to mean nothing. He thought of Phil and all the things he’d never said to him. He should have told him every day that he loved him. He should have told him that he’d loved him from the first day they met when Phil had offered him a way out from the disaster that was his life and held out a hand to pull him to safety. 

He should have told Natasha that she was the best friend he ever had and that he was thankful he listened to his gut and brought her in. He should have told Tony how much he appreciated his friendship and how grateful he was that Tony had invited them all into his home and made them a family. He should have told Steve that it was an honour to fight with him and that he was proud to say he was his friend. He should have told Thor that his infectious laughter and his general warmth had pulled Clint out of more funks then he thought possible and that more than once, it had pulled him back from the brink after things had gone to hell in a hand basket. He should have told Bruce that he enjoyed their talks and that he appreciated Bruce letting him vent whilst they made pancakes in the communal kitchen. He should have told them all how much they meant to him, how much he loved them all and how thankful he was to finally have the family he never had. 

But it was too late. 

A scraping sound drew him out of his thoughts and he strained his ears to locate the source of the noise. There was a thud from above and Clint’s eyes snapped open. He stared at the ceiling of his prison, heart taking up residence somewhere in the vicinity of his throat as slowly but surely, the dirt shifted above him. 

No, no, no. They couldn’t save him. All those people would die and Clint wasn’t worth all those lives. 

Slowly, his rescuer came into view and Clint saw the red and gold metal that told him Tony was digging him out with his metal clad hands. He reached up with his good hand and banged on the plastic to get Tony’s attention. Tony stilled above him and his face plate slid up, revealing his concerned and slightly relieved face. 

“It’s ok, buddy, I’m here to get you out,” he shouted, hands reaching to clear more dirt.

“No! Tony, listen to me. Listen to me!” Clint slammed his hand again making Tony stop and look into his eyes. “If you open this it will detonate a bomb and everyone above us will die.”

A look of horror flashed in Tony’s eyes but his gaze never wavered. 

“Ok, so I need to find the bombs and disarm them. You hang tight, buddy, we’ll get you out.”

“Tony, it’s too late. He’s filling the coffin with poisonous gas. I’m already dead.”

“No. No, Clint there has to be something we can do.”

“It’s too late.”

Tony slammed his hand beside Clint’s in frustration. He didn’t move for a second before he looked into Clint’s eyes and swallowed. 

“Hang in there, buddy, I’ll be right back.”

He stood without another word, his face plate sliding back into place. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

“J, trace that signal back to the source. I want to know where our friendly neighbourhood madman is playing voyeur from.”

“Tracing now, sir.”

“Patch me through to the Jet.”

“Done, sir.”

“Guys, I found Clint.” He listened to their sounds of triumph and sighed. “Don’t get too happy. We’ve got problems. How far away are you guys?”

“Less than a minute,” Natasha replied. 

“Good. When you get here, you’ll find him in the underground parking lot at the back. I’ve uncovered him but he’s still locked in the case.”

“What? Tony what the hell!? Why?” Phil demanded. 

“Because there’s a bomb involved,” Tony said, quietly. He listened to the silence on the other end and let out a sigh. “Go to him but for God sake do not open that case. I’m going after the bastard that did this. I’ll stop him I just need a little more time.”

He didn’t mention the poison slowly filling his friend’s lungs. One problem at a time and firstly Tony needed to get that case open without blowing up a building full of people. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Clint watched Tony walk out of view and let his head flop back down. He knew it was too late but now that Tony was here and the others were on their way he couldn’t help but let hope begin to build in his chest. He’d seen the look in Tony’s eyes. It was the look of a man with a plan. 

He coughed and winced as his breath rattled in his chest. He tried to get his breath back but it made him cough harder and when finally the coughs subsided, he could feel a wet coating his lip. He reached up and ran a trembling finger over his lip. In the dim light from above he could make out the redness of blood on his fingers and he sighed. Not long now. 

He heard the roar of the quintjet’s engines and closed his eyes briefly in relief. At lease he wouldn’t die alone. There was a thumping above him and he opened his eyes to see Phil kneeling over him, hands braced either side of Clint’s head, calling his name, his face perfectly in line with Clint’s and his eyes searching Clint’s own as they slowly cracked open. 

“Clint! Baby, look at me! It’s ok, baby, I’m here, it’s gonna be ok.”

Clint lifted his hand and pressed it against the Perspex and smiled when Phil shifted his own slightly so their hands would be pressed together if it weren’t for the barrier between them. 

“Keep your eyes on me baby. That’s it. It’s gonna be ok, I promise,” Phil said. 

“Don’t,” Clint said, not sure if Phil could hear his strangled whisper. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Clint…”

“It’s too late, Phil. But it’s ok. It’s ok.”

“Stop, Clint. Just…just stay with me ok. I need you to stay with me. Please.”

Clint let his eyes slip closed but a loud thump and a shout of his name made him force them back open. Phil slammed his hand once more and Clint shook his head, shaking off the fogginess and trying with all his might to get his eyes to focus on the tormented, terrified eyes of his partner. 

“Stay with me, baby. Stay with me.”

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Tony didn’t bother to let himself in to the apartment in the conventional way. JARVIS had narrowed down the source of the signal to an apartment on the sixth floor of an apartment complex one block over from where he’d clawed Clint out of the ground. He flew towards the apartment and didn’t even check his speed as he crashed through the glass landing with a thump in front the man sat at his computer. 

To the man’s credit, he remained relatively calm just a momentary look of shock passing over his face. He leant back in his seat and let his hands rest on the desk in front of him, neatly folded over each other. 

“Disarm the bomb.”

The man shook his head sadly, as if the situation was completely out of his control. 

“Disarm it now.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“This is a lesson you must learn.”

“There is nothing you can say that will convince me that Clint has to die today. Nothing you could ever say would convince me of that. He’s a good man.”

“Oh, I agree.”

“Then why?”

“Clint knows why. And when it’s over, so will you.”

“Ok,” Tony said and then reached forward, grabbed the man before him and slammed him face first into the desk. “Disarm the bomb!”

“You won’t kill me.”

“Don’t test me, asshole. If it comes down to a choice between you and Clint, Clint wins out every time. So disarm the bomb and I’ll let you live. Get you a nice comfy jail cell. If I have to knock you out and disarm the bomb myself, I will, but it means any chance you had of leniency is out the window and I will make it my life’s mission to make sure you suffer every damn day for the rest of your life.”

The man beneath his hand let out a strangled laugh. 

“I already lost everything. What more could you possibly do to me?”

Tony cursed and slammed the man’s head into the desk again, knocking him unconscious. 

“J, tell me you’ve been hacking his computer.”

“Of course, sir. I have located the bomb’s detonation sequence. Agent Barton was correct; it is linked to a trigger on the hatch of his cell.”

“But we can disarm it right?”

“Or course sir,” Jarvis repeated and Tony could have sworn there was a smile in the AI’s tone. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Phil took in the blood on Clint’s lips and knew that Tony hadn’t told them everything. 

“Clint, talk to me, tell me you’re ok.”

“I’m sorry, Phil,” Clint sobbed. 

“Clint…”

“There’s poison gas in here, I don’t have long, I’m sorry,” Clint whimpered. 

Phil let out an explosive “Fuck!” and spun his head round to where Bruce was crouched by the crater that Clint was encased in. 

“Bruce, tell me you can do something.”

“I don’t know, Phil,” Bruce said “I don’t know what the gas is but…but I can try.” Bruce got to his feet and raced towards the jet to grab his things. 

“I’ll help,” Natasha said and chased after him, anxious to help in any way she could. 

Phil turned back to Clint and slammed his hand down again when he noticed Clint has his eyes closed again. 

“Hey. Hey! It’s gonna be ok baby, we’re gonna fix this, it’s ok. It’s ok.”

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***  
There seemed to be never ending layers of code and firewalls but Tony and JARVIS worked through them quickly. Finally, after what felt like hours, they came to section that Tony was pretty damn sure would disarm the trigger on Clint’s cell. 

“J…tell me this is what I think it is.”

“It is sir. If we break this code, the bomb will be disarmed.”

Tony was silent after that, hands flying over the keyboard as he worked to crack the code. There was a clock somewhere in the apartment and the steady ticking served as a harsh reminder of how little time Clint had left and how quickly it was slipping away. 

And then, like a bolt of Thor’s lightening, Tony saw it. With a triumphant yell he hacked the code and disarmed the trigger. 

“Well done, sir,” JARVIS said. 

“Phil! Get our boy out of there!” Tony yelled, grabbing the unconscious man on the floor and slinging him over his shoulder before soaring out of the window and back to his friend. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

 _“Phil! Get our boy out of there!”_

Phil didn’t need to be told twice. He threw on the gas mask Natasha had thrown at him, and stood to the side as Thor, sporting a gas mask of his own, gripped the edge of the lid of the coffin and ripped it clean off. Phil darted past Thor and grabbed Clint into his arms, pulling him clear before Thor let the lid fall back into place. 

Phil dragged Clint to a safe distance and then tumbled to the floor under the deadweight of his partner, ripped the gas mask from his face and cradled him in his arms. Clint wound his arms around Phil and sobbed openly into his chest, while Phil rocked him gently. Bruce was there is seconds, taking a blood sample before Clint even realised what was happening. 

“We need to get him back to SHIELD,” Bruce said hurriedly. 

Clint began to cough again and blood splattered across Phil’s shirt. Phil swallowed and forced himself to hold in his panic. He needed to get Clint home, get him safe and he could fall apart when it was done. But right now, Clint needed him and Phil wasn’t going to let him down. He smoothed Clint’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. He realised Steve was crouching beside them and slowly pulling Clint out of his arms. Phil tightened them on instinct before he realised what he was trying to do. 

“It’s ok, Phil, I’ve got him,” Steve said softly. 

Phil relinquished his grip and let Steve lift Clint gently into his arms. He strode off towards the jet, Clint’s face buried into his friends shoulder and one arm looped around his neck. Thor held out his hand to Phil and pulled him to his feet. 

They had Clint back. But it wasn’t over yet.  
***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

Clint flat lined in the jet. 

Bruce had him hooked up to all kinds of machinery in the jet that had been kitted out for all medical emergencies by Tony when he was upgrading it after it became the Avengers main mode of transportation, and the steady tone filled the jet, echoing around them all. 

Everyone reacted at once. 

Natasha yelled out something in Russian and the jet seemed to go impossibly faster. Thor grabbed Phil, who had crumpled to his knees, sobs racking through his body, and pulled him back against his large chest whilst he stared in horror at Tony who had immediately begun to perform chest compressions on their fallen friend. Bruce was shouting and checking the medical equipment whilst Steve stood in the middle of it all, head bowed, powerless to do anything. 

It seemed to take forever before the steady tone changed abruptly to a consistent beeping. As one they let out a breath of relief. Tony let his head fall lightly against Clint’s chest and tried to regain his composure, surreptitiously wiping away the tears from his face. Clint was one of his best friends. They were so similar in so many ways that they were either going to become best friends or end up barely tolerating each other. He knew the others had been tense when they had first properly got to know each other. Tony had called Clint Katniss and Clint had told him to fuck off and there was a moment where everyone seemed to hold their breath and then they smiled at each other and they’d been close ever since. Now, he gripped Clint’s should briefly before he pulled away, giving Bruce more room to work. 

Finally, they made it back to SHILED and Fury and a couple of doctors where already waiting for them on the roof. The doctors took over at once, transferring Clint to a gurney and taking him away before the others had even managed to extricate themselves from the jet

They raced after them, Fury leading the way with long strides and billowing coat. He shot Phil a look filled with concern and sympathy, but Phil only had eyes for the motionless figure in front of them. 

When they were gone, two shield agents came forward and grabbed the still unconscious, bound figure of Clint’s captor, dragging him bodily from the jet and off into the depths of SHIELD

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***  
Four hours. Four hours of tense waiting with no news whatsoever had them all on edge. Fury had disappeared to find answers half an hour ago and still hadn’t returned. 

Nobody said a word. Phil was staring off into space thinking of things he could have done differently, something he could have done to stop Clint from being taken. 

It had taken them three hours to locate Clint. That was three where Clint was buried alive and convinced he was going to die alone. Phil remembered the look on Clint’s face as he had stared up at him through the clear lid of the coffin. It was a look of pure terror but there had been a hint of relief in his eyes and Phil realised he was just happy he got to say goodbye. The thought made him want to be sick. If they had been even five minutes later, maybe Phil would have had to watch the love his life suffocate to death. Maybe Clint was dead now anyway. It had been too long, they’d had him for too long and no one would tell him anything. He couldn’t shake the image of Clint lying somewhere, cold, pale and deathly still, giving in to the poison that has seeped through his lungs. The only conciliation he had was that wherever Clint was, Bruce was with him. The doctor had been allowed in to help synthesise an antivirus to the poison and Phil had to believe that if Clint was gone, Bruce would have let him know. 

As if on cue, the doors at the end of the corridor swung open and Fury and Bruce walked towards them. The others got to their feet quickly but Phil couldn’t trust his own legs so he stayed in his seat, aware that someone was gripping his should tightly. 

“He’s going to be ok,” Bruce announced without preamble. 

Phil let out a choked sob and felt the hand on his shoulder tighten. He felt the figure flop into the seat beside him and looked over to find, to his surprise, Tony looking back at him with relieved eyes. He smiled and then turned back to Bruce. 

“I want to see him.”

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***  
It was warm and comfortable. 

That was the first thought that crossed his groggy mind. Warm, comfortable and…dark. 

His eyes hot open as his mind was bombarded with memories of what had happened. The sudden, blinding light when he opened them made him whimper and squeeze his eyes shut again. Too dark, too bright…too much like it had been before. He felt a hand on his forehead, gently brushing his hair away from his face. That was new. There were soft sheets over him and a pillow beneath his head which was also new and he could hear a soft voice telling him he was ok, he was safe, he was home. 

He let his eyes flicker open slowly and Phil’s face swam into focus, his eyes drawn to the small, sad smile and the look of concern in his eyes. 

“Phil?” he whispered, his voice horse. 

“I’m here, baby, it’s ok. You’re ok. Fuck…” Phil’s eyes slid shut and he rested his forehead against Clint’s. “Fuck…Clint…I thought I lost you.”

Clint didn’t say anything because he knew Phil nearly had. 

***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***~A~***~***~***

They kept him in for a week which Clint thought was a little excessive but he didn’t try and break out because he knew the others would only drag him back. Phil was there every day, sat beside his bedside and clutching his hand. He only left to shower and slept in a cot beside Clint’s bed, fingers entwined with his. There was always someone with him when he woke up and Clint could feel the love for his team growing all the time. 

He’d been injured before and he’d been captured before, but this was different. 

There was something truly terrifying about being buried alive and Clint could honestly say it was one of the worst things he’d ever had to endure. He lost count of the number of times he woke with a strangled yell from the memories, Phil’s arms wrapped around him, anchoring him to the here and now and reminding him was safe, peppering his face with soft kisses as he gently rocked him back to sleep. 

Natasha and Tony spent hours with them every day. They came first thing in the morning and stayed throughout the day, one of them darting off at lunch time and coming back laden down with junk food which they ate whilst watching Sons of Anarchy together and chatting about what was going on in the rest of the world. 

When Clint’s eyes started to droop, Natasha would press a quick kiss to his forehead and Tony would grip his hand in his and then they would be gone. 

In the evening, Steve and Thor would pop in to say hello, bring dinner with them and staying to eat with them and Bruce was in and out of his room all the time, checking all his vitals and test results and generally making sure he was on the mend. 

When they were all gone and it was just him and Phil, he couldn’t help the swell of panic in his chest and his realised it was almost time for sleep and he wondered if the memories would haunt his dreams again that night and when, invariably he woke with a quiet yelp, Phil was always there to press a reassuring kiss to his lips and lull him back to sleep. 

And so it continued for the entire week until blessedly he was cleared to go home. The poison was all out of his system and the physical they gave him before he left was reassuring and he was given permission to hit the gym as soon as he felt up to it. With a smile, he wondered if Natasha would go easy on him for once.

They were all there when Phil and he walked into the communal living area, Phil’s hand holding his arm and the other arm wrapped around his shoulder to keep him steady. He wanted to tell Phil he was alright but he thought maybe Phil needed this more than he did. It was true, the gas had taken a lot out of him and he needed some time to get his strength back but physically he was fine. 

He wasn’t so sure about mentally, but that would come eventually. 

They’d made a banner which looked like they’d all gone crazy with paintbrushes on an old sheet, dotting it with his name and ‘welcome home’ and little bows and arrows in purple. There was seven hearts along the bottom in different colours: black, purple, red, blue, gold, green and pink. Natasha, Clint, Thor, Steve, Tony, Bruce and Phil who looked like he’d figured out he was the pink one and didn’t know whether to laugh or hit someone in the face. The gleeful look in Tony’s eye said he probably had something to do with that.

They each pulled him into a hug, gripping his shoulder or, in Thor’s case, lifting him bodily from the ground. 

There was shawarma, Chinese and Pizza on the table, Clint’s three favourite things (Thank you Tony for showing him the delights of shawarma) and Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food in the freezer. A selection of DVD’s were laid out on the coffee table awaiting his approval and there was beer in the fridge. 

“He can have one!” Tony had shouted when Bruce and Phil shot him a disapproving look at that. 

As the other’s grabbed a plate and descended on the food laid out before them, Tony caught Clint by the elbow and gently pulled him away from the group. Phil shot him a look but Clint just smiled. He was ok. He let Tony pull him into the adjacent room and waited as he stood silently before him, his face sombre in complete contrast the jovial manner he had displayed for the others. He was silent for a moment before he picked up a small box from the side and held it out to Clint. Tentatively Clint took it from him but didn’t open it. 

“If you’re going to propose, I think I should point out that Phil doesn’t like to share,” he joked. 

“We should have got to you sooner.”

“Tony…”

“We should have found you so much sooner. We could have pulled you free before that madman released the gas and you would have been fine.”

“I _am_ fine.”

“Open the box,” Tony said, ignoring him.

Clint sighed but did as Tony asked. Inside was a tiny silver shard of metal with a gently glowing blue tip, no bigger than a standard earring. 

“It’s a tracking device,” Tony explained. “Completely undetectable on x-rays and with a signal that can only be picked up by JARVIS. You don’t have to take it but I think I’d sleep a damn site better if I knew that if my best friend ever got kidnapped again that I could find him in a heartbeat. I’ve made one for everyone but I haven’t mentioned it to the others yet. I wanted to offer it to you first.”

Clint looked down and the glowing blue stone and smiled. 

“I think it’s a brilliant idea,” he said quietly. 

“Good,” Tony replied with a small smile of his own. He grabbed a small device and held out his hand of the tracker. “No time like the present.”

He took the tracker and pulled Clint’s arm towards him, pressing the device against Clint’s forearm. With a soft thunk and a slight gasp from Clint the tracker slid easily under his skin, leaving a small puncture mark behind and nothing more. Tony pressed his thumb gently against the mark and Clint let his friend take whatever reassurance he needed from that small act. 

“Right.” Tony pulled away and walked out of the room to the bar, Clint following him close behind. 

The rest of the team where sat around the table, laughing and joking as they let the weight of the last week fall from their shoulders. Phil caught his eye and shot him a smile which Clint returned. It wouldn’t fall quite as easily from their shoulders but for the first time since Clint woke up underground, he felt a sense of peace. Tony poured two shots of bourbon and held one out to Clint who didn’t hesitate to take it even though he knew he probably shouldn’t be drinking alcohol. Tony raised his glass slightly. 

“Here’s to you, Legolas,” he said. 

“Bite me, Tony,” Clint laughed. 

“Now you sound like you,” Tony replied with a chuckle. 

“I’m ok, Tony,” Clint reassured him. 

“No you’re not. Not yet,” Tony countered, a serious but warm expression on his face. “But you will be.”

Clint looked over at the others, his friends and the love of his life and nodded his head in agreement. He downed his bourbon in one and held it out for a refill. Tony chuckled again and obliged. 

The nightmares would no doubt continue and he wasn’t sure how he was going to be in small spaces for a while but he wasn’t alone. That thought above all others allowed him to finally relax. He had Phil to chase away the nightmares and a family that would always come after him. The little mark on his arm throbbed slightly as if to remind him he could never be lost again. He took a smaller sip of his drink and pushed himself away from the bar. He sat down beside Phil with a wink, ignoring the questioning look that Natasha shot him and grabbed the biggest slice of pepperoni pizza he could see. He looked around and his friends and reached under the table to wrap Phil’s hand in his. 

He was going to be just fine.


End file.
